


Cheaters Prosper

by bryoneybrynn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, hate-sex, quidditch locker room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 02:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4588794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bryoneybrynn/pseuds/bryoneybrynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco won the Slytherin-Gryffindor match by cheating. Harry has a problem with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheaters Prosper

**Author's Note:**

> My very first PWP! Written as a gift for the lovely _aurora_sky_. 
> 
> Heed the warnings if you don't like it rough.
> 
> Warnings: Violence, angry hate!sex
> 
> Disclaimer:: This is a work of fanfiction. Harry Potter et al belong to JK Rowling, her publishers and associated movie studios. No profit was made from this work. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of 18.

Cheaters Prosper

Draco was in the shower, was just nicely wet, in fact, when he heard it – a pounding at the locker room door and someone’s voice shouting.

“Malfoy, you fucking cheat, open up this bloody door right now.”

He smiled to himself and tipped his head back under the hot spray. So predictable.

“Malfoy, I mean it, you stupid shit. Open this door right now or Merlin help me, I will _Confringo_ it to sodding dust.”

Goyle looked over at Draco. They were the only ones left in the locker room. The rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team had long since finished cleaning themselves up and were probably even now cracking open the Firewhisky in the common room. Draco had every intention of joining in the victory party but he had guessed Potter would be waiting for him outside the locker room, fuming about the match. The thought of keeping him out there, pacing and cursing and spitting with anger, was just too delicious, so Draco had purposefully stretched out his post-game routine. As the minutes ticked by, Draco had savoured the knowledge that Potter would be getting more and more incensed, that he would probably be frothing at the mouth by the time Draco finally emerged from the locker room. 

It seemed, however, that he had overestimated Potter’s patience, or perhaps underestimated Potter’s anger. Either way, Potter was clearly not going to wait any longer for their altercation. It was a slight snag in Draco’s impromptu plan. He would have preferred to have a showdown outdoors, where he could make a quick escape if necessary, but no matter. In fact, it might be better that they have some privacy. Potter did better with a crowd behind him, especially if said crowd included the Weasel and the Mudblood. They seemed to steady him, giving him the resolve he needed to win the fight.

Alone, though, Potter fell apart much faster. Alone, he could be confused, distracted, pushed into the reckless, boyish violence that made Draco’s blood sing. It was true that Potter did have the rare moment when a kind of calm lucidity seemed to break through all his Gryffindor outrage, when he could stand back and come out with some truly cutting comments. In those moments, it was almost as though Potter had a well-hidden Slytherin side and Merlin but Draco hated him the most at those moments. Still, inner Slytherin or no, Potter was likely incoherent with rage right now – Draco _had_ won the match by cheating in a most spectacular fashion – so Draco doubted very much that he’d be coming up with anything even remotely stinging. No, Potter would be in full unthinking fury mode. Which meant it was Draco’s show and oh, how he loved it when it was his show.

Draco licked his lips and nodded at Goyle. “Let him in.”

Goyle looked unsure, but obeyed nonetheless. It was remarkable, really, how quickly he and Goyle had fallen back into their old roles, as if seventh year had never happened at all. But then again, perhaps it wasn’t so remarkable. They were all trying to fit back into their old routines, all looking for those old comforts. It was why Goyle took commands from him now, why Potter was outside the locker room door demanding answers, why he himself was enjoying the moment so much. It was things as they should have been, as they would have been if not for the war.

But that was a train of thought that would lead to unpleasantness and Draco was in no mood to let anything spoil this moment for him. He cocked an ear, listening as Goyle unlocked the many bolts and lifted the spells on the locker room door. Draco couldn’t see the door from the showers but he could picture Potter clear as day, knew exactly how he’d look. He’d be standing in the doorway, still in his sweaty Quidditch gear, chest heaving, face flushed with anger, a look of dumb surprise on his face that the door had actually opened, that Draco had listened to him. He’d probably sneer at Goyle, make some asinine quip about Goyle being Draco’s lackey or hired thug or some such as he pushed his way into the room. 

Sure enough...

“Still following orders?” Potter’s voice reached him across the locker room, echoing and faint, but clearly audible. “I would have thought you learned your lesson about that.”

Draco laughed. Oh, that was pathetic, even for Potter. He must really be worked up. This was going to be _so_ much fun.

“Where is he?” Potter was shouting now. “Your foul, cheating, joke of a captain?”

“Oh, calm down, Potter,” Draco called across the room in a bored drawl. “You’ll burst something, carrying on like that. I’m back here. Come find me if you want to talk to me. And Goyle? You can go. Tell the others I’ll be there soon.”

It was a risk, being alone in the locker room with Potter but Draco wanted his undivided attention. He’d be able to break Potter so much faster that way.

“I wouldn’t get their hopes up,” Potter said, a growl in his voice. “Malfoy’s not going to be anywhere except the Hospital Wing for quite some time.”

Draco hummed to himself. It was a little bit better, he supposed, as far as Potter’s taunts went, but still weak.

He heard Goyle grunt, heard the door closing and then the sound of locks being turned. Something in his stomach jumped a bit at that. He hadn’t expected Potter to lock them in. His eyes darted over to the shelf opposite the showers. His wand was there, safe and dry, only a few paces away. He could have it in his hands in less than a second. No, there was nothing to worry about. All he had to do was sit back and enjoy the show as Potter exploded. And if it came to blows, well, that would be just fine. There had been much too much of the bad kind of violence over the last two years. Draco would welcome a bit of the good kind. It had been too long since he’d had a proper fight and there was no one he loved to sink his fists into more than Potter.

Now Potter’s footsteps were echoing loudly as he marched across the locker room. Anticipation tightened Draco’s gut with each step. Draco forced himself to close his eyes and relax back into his shower. No need to look like he was eager for this or anything.

Potter appeared around the corner, his stomping indignation cut short by the sight of Draco in the shower. His mouth fell open for a moment and he stared – goggled, really – before his face twisted into a scowl.

“What the fuck, Malfoy?” he demanded, his eyes carefully fixed on some point off to the right, away from Draco’s naked form.

Draco grinned and reached for the soap. “Problem, Potter?”

“Yes, there’s a problem. You’re naked!”

“And?”

“And I don’t need to see your bits, thanks!”

Draco smirked and lathered up his body, letting his hands slide over his wet skin. “Well, you’re the one who barged in here while I was in the middle of my shower. Not the best plan if you didn’t want to see me naked.”

“For Christ’s – I thought you were hiding in here. I didn’t know you were in the shower.”

“Well, now you do.”

There was a long, strained silence. Draco could practically _hear_ Potter’s thoughts, they were so obvious. Potter had come looking for a fight and he wanted one, badly, but didn’t want to touch a naked Draco. He was trying to figure out some way that he could force Draco to come out of the shower and clothe himself but he was coming up with nothing. Because there was nothing to come up with. Potter could probably use his wand to get Draco out of the shower but there were no spells that would magic his clothes on him against his will, or at least none that Potter was likely to know. Draco gleefully watched Potter’s face as he ran through his options and came up empty. When the small frown appeared, Draco knew he had him.

Draco let one hand drift down his torso and began to nonchalantly soap up his cock, as if it was something he did in front of Potter every day. “So did you want something or did you just come by to get a look?” he asked, smirking.

“Fuck you, Malfoy. You know why I’m here. And could you _not_ do that while I’m talking to you?” He looked pointedly at the hand Draco had wrapped around his cock.

“I’m just cleaning myself. Got to keep the equipment in good working order, you know.” He noticed Potter’s eyes were still on his cock. Glued to it, even. Hmmm. How very _interesting_. “If you don’t like it, maybe you should stop looking.”

Potter blushed delightfully and Draco couldn’t hold back a laugh. 

“Don’t feel too bad, Potter. It _is_ a very nice cock. I’ve been told I have a rather nice arse, too. Would you like to see?” 

He half turned in the shower, flashing his arse at Potter for a moment. Potter’s eyes darted down to look, widening ever so slightly, and then darted away again, quickly, guiltily. Hmmm. _Very_ interesting, indeed. 

Draco looked closely at Potter. Anger was no longer flaring in those green eyes, replaced by something else, something that looked a lot like fear and Draco should know – if there was anything he learned from his time with Voldemort, it was the many faces of fear. And Potter, well, Potter had always been an open book and right now those eyes were telling Draco that he was close to a secret Potter didn’t want anyone to know. Given the situation, there was really only one thing that secret could be. 

A huge grin broke across Draco’s face. “You _like_ what you see, don’t you?” 

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Potter grumbled, his eyes on the ground.

Draco laughed again, thrilled with his discovery. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Because I’ve hit a nerve, a nerve that has homosexual written all over it and you’d like nothing more than for me to stop talking about it so you can go back to pretending that you don’t think about fucking boys every minute of the day.”

“Shut up, Malfoy!” Potter said again, some of the heat coming back into his expression.

“Is that why you split up with your little she-Weasel? No matter how you bent her over, no matter how tight you closed your eyes or where she let you stick your cock, you just couldn’t forget that she was a she?”

Potter took an angry step forward, nearing the spray of the shower. “Shut the fuck up!” he shouted, and there was something wild and lost about the look on his face. 

This was so much better than Draco had imagined. He’d thought they were just going to fight about Quidditch but this, the unexpected revelation of Potter’s even more unexpected sexual preferences, this was like Christmas and sex and candy all rolled into one. Potter was biting his lip now and his fingers were twisting and clenching and he was rocking ever so slightly on his heels. Draco watched, enthralled by Potter’s agitation, his mind running wild with possibilities. Pushing him over the edge was going to be so easy and so much _fun_.

“Oh, Potter. Our closeted hero. I can just hear girls’ hearts breaking all over Hogwarts. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived to Bugger Boys. Or,” Draco paused dramatically and raised an eyebrow, “to be buggered by boys? What’s the dirty little fantasy in your head, Potter?” He turned his body away from Potter and looked back over his shoulder. “Do you dream about fucking a tight arse?” he asked tauntingly, arching his back so his arse pushed out towards Potter. Potter scowled but his eyes moved to Draco’s arse nonetheless. Draco laughed before turning back around slowly. He let his hand fall to his cock, unsurprised to find himself half-hard – this whole thing was turning out to be _far_ more enjoyable than he had dared dream – and curled his fingers around his growing erection. “Or are you plagued by thoughts of a hard, hot cock pounding into you?” 

Potter tore his eyes away with obvious effort. “Oh my god, you are such a pervert.”

“And you’re avoiding the question,” Draco said, beginning to stroke himself slowly. “Come on, Potter. Which is it? Top or bottom?”

Potter was glaring now. “Seriously, Malfoy, stop doing that.”

“No. I don’t want to stop. If you don’t like it, you can leave.” A beat passed and Potter didn’t move. His eyes didn’t even leave Draco’s cock but his body went taut. Draco could practically see the muscles tensing to near rigidity beneath his Quidditch robes. “But I don’t think you want to leave. I think you want to stay and watch me toss me off, watch me pull my cock until I spray come all over the tiles. I think you want it so bad you’re choking on it.”

“You’re the one wanking in front of me,” Potter spat. “I think _you_ want me to watch. You want me to see you shoot your load.”

Draco just shrugged. “Well, like you said, I’m a pervert.” Draco picked up the pace of his stroking, letting his eyes flutter closed and a small moan escape his lips.

“Stop it,” Potter said, forcefully this time.

Draco opened his eyes and smirked. “Make me.”

Potter’s eyes narrowed and his lips pulled back to bare his teeth and Draco was quite sure one of two things was going to happen then. Potter was either going to bolt or he was going to punch Draco in the face. Draco found himself holding his breath. He prayed fervently to any god that was listening that Potter hit him. If Potter hit him right then, while Draco was hard and wet and naked, he was positive he would come. Not only that, but he suspected it might be one of the best orgasms of his life.

Potter’s hand shot out to grab Draco’s wrist, the water of the shower soaking the sleeve of his Quidditch robes. Potter wrenched Draco’s hand off his cock, his fingers digging into the soft bones of Draco’s wrist. Draco braced himself then, waiting for the punch that Potter was going to deliver at any second. 

But it never came. 

Instead, Potter stepped forward into the spray of water, driving Draco back, bashing him against the wall of the shower, Draco’s teeth clacking painfully as his head bounced off the tiles. Potter pulled Draco forward only to slam him back again and again and again. 

Potter was drenched, his robes sodden and heavy, his hair dripping down into his face. He had tossed his glasses aside at some point – Draco could see them lying on the floor – and Potter’s eyes were alive with anger, dark and burning. His breathing was ragged, harsh breaths tearing out of his open, snarling mouth as he drove Draco back into the wall. Draco’s head was starting to hurt, the pain dull and deep, and the hint of blood in his mouth suggested he had bitten his tongue. But it didn’t matter. Potter’s hands were on Draco, curled around his biceps, fingers digging in, and Potter was losing it, falling apart in the most _marvellous_ way and even if Draco ended up with a concussion it would be worth it, just to be here with him like this, just to see the Golden Boy come undone.

The wrenching and shoving suddenly stopped. Potter pressed Draco tight against the wall and _stared_ at him and fuck if Draco didn’t almost come right then.

“Fuck, I hate you,” Potter growled. Draco felt Potter’s hand leave his left arm and knew this was it, really it. He was going to get his face smashed in good and proper. He kept his eyes open, wanting to see Potter’s fist coming towards him, wanting to see every moment of Potter losing control.

But Potter’s fist didn’t drive into Draco’s face. Instead, it dropped and closed around Draco’s cock. And then it _moved_.

Bloody fuck. 

Harry fucking Potter had his hand on Draco’s cock and was wanking him, pulling on Draco’s cock as if his life depended on it. 

Bloody fucking _hell_.

Draco’s knees went weak for a minute but he forced himself not to fall. If he fell, Potter’s might snap out of whatever rage-induced spell he was under and if he did, he might stop fisting Draco’s cock with those wonderfully vicious strokes and that _could not be allowed to happen_.

“I hate you, with your Dark Mark and your fucking racist pureblood shit and your fucking father,” Potter ground out, his hand jerking Draco’s cock roughly as he spoke. “I hate your stupid face and your stupid voice and the way you hide behind your thugs, you fucking coward.” His hand moved faster now, his grip so tight it was painful. Draco’s eyes rolled up in his head. He could feel his orgasm building, a slick coil of tension in his groin. It was going to be a big one. He suspected he might even black out. The very idea of it had him groaning. “I hate everything about you.”

Potter pumped him a few more times, hard and sure, but then his hand faltered on Draco’s cock and he seemed to be twisting about quite a bit. Draco opened his eyes and saw Potter was struggling out of his wet robes, stripping down to nothing but a pair of snug trousers and a soaking wet grey t-shirt that clung to his body like a second skin. Even as he watched, Potter’s hands went to his trousers, ripping them open and pulling out his hard, heavy cock. Draco’s mouth watered at the sight of it and he fought the urge to drop to his knees. Not that that wouldn’t have been good, but he was pretty sure what Potter had in mind would be much, much better. 

Sure enough, Potter was spinning him around, a strong hand pushing against Draco’s back, pinning his chest to the tiles. Draco was very glad for the little show he had put on soaping up his nether regions earlier – he had a feeling the slick suds still nestled between his arse cheeks were the only lube he was going to get. A wave of pure ecstasy washed over him as he felt the blunt head of Potter’s cock press against his arsehole, felt the burning as it pushed in, all the way in, in one fierce, searing stroke. Draco barely had time to catch his breath before Potter was pulling out again and then driving forward, burying himself balls-deep in Draco’s arse. 

Potter had one hand locked on Draco’s hip like a vice, the other at the back of Draco’s head, crushing his face into the wall. He set a brutal pace, slamming into Draco with a force that bordered on violence. Draco thought about telling Potter to stop, just to see if he would, just to see how far gone Gryffindor’s poster boy really was, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t do anything but grind back against Potter’s thrusts and groan his pleasure into the tiles.

Much sooner than Draco would have liked, Potter’s hips began to move faster and Draco knew they must be approaching the end. Draco managed to get his hand around his cock, working to fist himself in rhythm with Potter’s thrusts, his knuckles banging and scraping against the wall as Potter pounded into him. It was awkward and painful but it didn’t matter. He doubted he even needed to touch himself at all. All he really needed to do was think, really think, about what was happening, to concentrate on the feel of Potter’s cock as it slid in and out of his arse, to listen to the harsh rasp of Potter’s breath and... there, he was right on the edge of it now, teetering on the brink of what was sure to be a truly shattering orgasm. 

Even as Draco felt his orgasm rushing forward, Potter pulled out of him and his hand fell from Draco’s head. Draco hissed in anger and disappointment. Had he missed it? Had he been so caught up in trying to get himself off that he had missed Potter’s orgasm? Had it been that small, that quiet? It couldn’t have been, not when Draco was feeling like this. Potter had to be feeling it too, damn it!

But no. Potter hadn’t come yet. Draco could hear the sound of flesh on flesh, of hand on cock. Potter’s hand on his hip kept Draco from turning around but he craned his neck to look over his shoulder, to see. Sure enough, Potter was jerking himself off, his cock aimed to come all over Draco’s arse. Draco moaned deep in his throat, wanting nothing more than to see it happen _now_.

And just like that, it did. Potter’s face twisted in a grimace of pleasure and he was grunting, long and loud, as hot ropes of pearly white come splashed across Draco’s arse and ran down his thighs. The sight of it was all he needed and Draco was coming too, a hoarse cry pushing out of him as he painted the tiles with his come. His vision faded to black for a minute and suspected he would have fallen down if not for Potter’s hand pinning him to the wall. 

They stood there for several long moments, both panting and struggling to stay upright, the warm water of the shower pounding down on them. Finally, Potter stepped back, his hand leaving Draco’s hip. 

Once he was sure his legs would hold him, Draco pushed off the shower wall and smirked. “So, a top then.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” Potter snarled, tucking his spent cock back into his trousers and zipping up.

“Well, yes, I rather think you just did.”

Potter’s lip curled for a second but then something flickered across his face and suddenly he looked unsure. “I didn’t, I – I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“A little late for the Gryffindor to show up, isn’t it?” Draco laughed. “Potter, you just fucked me into the wall with no preparation and no lube other than soap and water. _Of course_ you hurt me.” 

Potter paled.

“I’m not complaining,” Draco said. “I _like_ that you hurt me. Besides, I always knew you were a vicious bastard underneath it all.”

“Shut up,” Potter grumbled but Draco thought he heard just a hint of relief in his voice.

There was a long silence then and Potter shifted nervously. It couldn’t be more obvious what he was thinking. 

Draco sighed. “Stop fidgeting. I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“You’re not?” Potter asked, clearly surprised.

Draco waved a dismissive hand. “Of course not. What would be the benefit in that?”

“So you’re going to blackmail me, then.”

Potter’s words surprised Draco. It wasn’t what he had been driving at all. He had no intention of blackmailing Potter over this – moments like this were too perfect to mess with that way – but Potter didn’t need to know that. Draco shrugged and smiled enigmatically.

Potter stared at him, incredulous. “Blackmail me for what? You don’t need money. I get worse marks than you so it’s not likely you’d want me to do your homework for you. Unless you’re after my Chocolate Frog card collection, I don’t have anything you want.”

Draco smirked and leered at Potter. “Oh, I think you have _something_ I want.”

“You’re going to blackmail me into having sex with you again?” Potter asked, a look of horror on his face.

Draco gave a predatory smile and stepped closer to Potter, moving forward until their bodies were only inches apart. As Potter’s eyes darted over Draco’s body, Draco was suddenly very glad he was still naked while Potter was clothed. It should have made him feel vulnerable but instead he felt powerful. Potter liked his body, hadn’t been able to control himself at the sight of it. His body was a weapon he could wield against Potter and he intended to take full advantage of that fact. 

He pressed up against Potter, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, and brought his mouth to Potter’s ear.

“I have no interest in you forcing you to come to me unwillingly” Draco whispered. “I’d much rather wait until you come to me because you can’t help yourself, because the wanting has finally overtaken the shame. I want you on your knees, your mouth stretched around my cock because you _want_ to be there. I don’t need to blackmail you to have you again, Potter. I just need to wait. I give you a week before you’re tracking me down. Probably less.”

Potter pulled back, stepping clear of Draco, shaking his head. “You’re mental.”

“We’ll see,” Draco said easily and moved to retrieve his towel from its nearby hook. “Until then, you don’t need to worry. I know how to keep secrets.”

He watched as Potter struggled with this, trying to come up with some threat he could use to ensure Draco’s silence but there was nothing. He was just going to have to trust him. “You’d better,” he growled at last but it sounded more sulky than menacing.

“Yes, yes. Now run along, Potter. I have a victory party I need to get to and you’d better go find your little friends before they come looking for you. Wouldn’t want to have to explain this to them, hmmm?”

Potter glared at him but started gathering up his sodden Quidditch gear, nonetheless, pulling out his wand and performing a drying spell on his hair and clothes. Then, with one last furious look, Potter turned and started towards the door.

“See you soon then, lover,” Draco called after him, laughing when he heard the door slam with what had to be unnecessary force. 

Draco sighed contentedly. Who said cheaters never prospered?


End file.
